


Memory Serves

by bandwidthlimit



Series: Leverage Ficlets [25]
Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandwidthlimit/pseuds/bandwidthlimit
Summary: “Will you two quit starin' at each other and make a move?” Eliot bangs dishes as he puts them away. “She's got you in check, man. It's been twenty minutes.”
Relationships: Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Series: Leverage Ficlets [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840567
Kudos: 10





	Memory Serves

Nate doesn't keep pictures in his apartment. For the most part, it's because he doesn't trust security systems, and his teams safety is more important than knick knacks. It's not that he doesn't trust Hardison's ability to protect the offices, it's just that working with this team had made him realize what a futile practice security really is.

As for the rest, he doesn't feel he really needs them, and lately, he's all about needs. He's got a memory for details. It served him well at IYS and even better as a thief. He remembers facial cues, nervous ticks, speech patterns, hand movements... Nate has a very good memory, and sometimes it haunts him.

He keeps one picture near him, the last picture Sam drew him. He can't bear the thought of letting it go or hiding it away. He needs to see it to remember – not who his son was, but to remember  _ why _ .

There are some days he wishes he kept photographs, maybe of the team (definitely of Sophie. He doesn't dare admit that to himself yet), but most likely not. Photos of them together are concrete links for law enforcement. Currently, all they have to place any of them in the same place at the same time is conjecture, and he likes it that way.

Sometimes, though, memory doesn't serve, and he wishes he could hold a picture in front of him and remember, like he can for Sam.

It's probably why he stares at her so much. He wants to remember the soft curls in her hair, or the slight lift to the corner of her mouth. He likes the delicacy of her fingers around a teacup, but not as much as he likes the long curve of her neck when she asks him to help her with her earbud (she doesn't do this often anymore, but he likes to remember it). Sometimes, she catches him looking, and he wonders if there's something in his eyes that he can't hide from her, because she never says anything, just looks back.

He wonders where he could keep a picture, even if he had one. Nothing is sacred here – both Parker and Sophie lift his wallet for sport, Sophie more often then Parker, now. He has a sneaking suspicion Parker has been instructed not to.

They use his apartment for cons, sometimes on the fly. It gets used as a first aid station whenever one of them is hurt, always on the fly. Hardison updates and pulls information from their phones so often Nate doesn't dare keep anything personal on or near it. There is no where safe to keep a photograph where he knows they won't see it.

So, he watches her instead, trying to memorize the way she puts of her hair and the coy smile she occasionally shoots him over her bare shoulder.

“I wonder who's winning the staring contest,” Parker hasn't quite mastered the art of a stage whisper yet, and Nate watches Sophie's lips curve into a smile.

“I am,” they say at the same time. Eliot scoffs from the kitchen, and Hardison snorts from the couch.

“Will you two quit starin' at each other and make a move?” Eliot bangs dishes as he puts them away. “She's got you in check, man. It's been twenty minutes.”

Nate taps the black king with his forefinger, and has to admit that Eliot's right. Sophie grins in triumph as he sighs and lays the king down in defeat. “I thought I had you beat there,” he says.

“In the staring match? Nah, Sophie totally had you.” Parker hops up onto the back of the couch, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground.

“No, at the...” he trails off as Sophie stands, kisses his cheek, and sets down a black rook, bishop and knight that he knows she didn't get by following the rules of the game. “You cheated!”

“No, Parker cheated.” Sophie laughs at the incredulity written all over his face. “She's been taking your pieces for the last fifteen minutes.” She pats him on the back and walks away.

Nate sulks through dinner, rolling the black king between his fingers. (“At the table, Nate? Seriously? You are such a sore loser.”) He's a little mollified when he thinks that it took both of them to beat him, and decides that Sophie's exposed collarbone is totally to blame here.

He also decides that it was worth it, and thinks about tracing it with more than his eyes later.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Nate being a sore loser. Especially to Sophie.


End file.
